Sometimes Home Is A Mess
by KeepSaying
Summary: When the Avengers break apart, Tony is tired and worn and broken but Peter is there and it helps. - When the Avengers get pardoned a year later because the world decides they need their heroes back Tony is worn from the fights he fought to get them there and Peter is still there. [Set after You Made Me A Believer; kid Peter Parker]


_A/N:_ This is simultaneously the second part of the series I promised you a very very long time ago and the fullfilment of a prompt from even longer ago.

The prompt was: **"****Please don't leave me, I can't do this without you."**

_"__(With bby Peter and Tony) The Avengers are paroned from the according and return to the tower but haven't really asked for forgiveness. Baby Peter remembers days his dad returning with a limp and dent heart. Peter being a little genius connect the dots is now clinging to his father he felt he could have lost. Seeing the avengers gives no only Tony anxiety but to Peter as well. He scream and cries when he's so much a inch away from his farther heart. begging him not to go or leave his side."_ (**Anon**)

This is set after **You Made Me A Believer** and kind of sets the scene for the next part. We will not deal with the rest of the Avengers, though. We'll deal with the Ironfam only :)

Hope you enjoy! Tell me what you think! xx

* * *

_Sometimes home is a mere memory,  
And sometimes home is a mess  
Sometimes it's not what you imagined it would be  
And sometimes the laughter never ends  
It never ends, it never ends_

_[Home - Stefanie Heinzmann]_

There's a dull ache behind his temple when his fuzzy mind clambers back into consciousness and a throbbing pain sits right behind his sternum. The feeling of his chest split open and his every muscle battered and bruised is a distressingly familiar one and for the briefest of moments the air around him feels too humid and dirty.

He can taste the blood and the sweat and smells the burned flesh and metal. He hears the crunching of sand between his teeth when he moves his jaw. He sees red and feels cold.

He's not there, though, he knows that. Knows it by the way his ribs are cracked in a meticulously designed half-oval and by the memories he can't push away.

His near death experience years ago in that cave in Afghanistan feels small, _manageable_, compared to the new betrayal. The new incision cut open scar tissue he's been trying his hardest to forget but it's different this time, somehow, more personal.

A humorless laugh slips past his dry lips at the thought of something being _more_ personal than what Obie did to him and soon after he starts coughing, wincing when each and every fiber of his body is cataloging more pain until he feels it's all he is.

"Jar?"

The name is out before he can think better of it and when it is – warm and familiar and soothing on his tongue – the wrong voice replies, hesitant in a way JARVIS wouldn't have been. But Jarvis is Vision now and doesn't have to answer to him anymore – not like that at least. Just another soul slipping from his desperate fingers that are always searching for a meaning, closeness, a family.

"You seem agitated, boss. Do you want me to call for help?"

He wants to scoff at the notion but thinks better of it, eyes still closed, mouth still dry.

"No," he croaks out eventually because he doesn't want help – doesn't deserve it either. If he has to keep living, he wants to do it like this – in darkness and alone. He wants to embrace the shadows that have been hovering at his doorstep for as long as he can remember.

Some famous dead guy once said '_We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone._' and that's exactly what he wants to do. Somewhere without the hurt, the constant betrayal and disappointment. He just wants peace.

That's all he's ever wanted.

It's all he'll never get.

When F.R.I.D.A.Y. stays quiet he feels tears burn in his eyes. JARVIS would've ignored his orders.

He's close to drifting off again when a small commotion startles him awake – survival instinct kicking in, even in a tower better secured than Fort Knox he's always alert, always expecting something to attack.

This particular assault, though, makes his heart lighter and his muscles relax for the first time since… since that bunker probably. Since that god forsaken video.

"Peter is here to see you, boss, he asks if you're up." The AI's voice is fond and it eases the pain of missing his old friend. F.R.I.D.A.Y. and Peter are getting along. Peter _loves_ the Irish voice and the way she's coded. To him she's family just like Vision is.

"Let him in."

It's only been a few months since that fatal shooting that lead him to the boy and his aunt but ever since then they have taken up such a huge part of his life that he can't remember a time when he didn't have a kid running through his living room, dropping pens and paper and Lego everywhere.

When Peter is there, every corner of the empty tower is filled with life and laughter and love. He drives the ghosts and memories away, replaces them with new ones – better ones, purer ones – without realizing what he's doing.

The squirt comes barreling into the room, arms clutching a lime green notebook to his chest, eyes twinkling and lips moving with rambles Tony's dazed mind doesn't quite catch.

He is young. He is life. He is hope.

He is everything Tony isn't.

But then he stops and takes him in and his mouth slams shut, the audible click of his teeth like a gunshot in the sterile room. The smile in his eyes drains like a plug being pulled and there's something wary in them now – a mind trapped in a memory – and there's fear and hesitation.

"Tony?" he asks, voice eons away from the happy one he craves to hear. "Wha – What happened?"

Peter doesn't drop the notebook like Tony might have. Instead he clutches it more tightly to his chest when he slowly steps closer to the bed, entire posture guarded and tense, ready to bolt at any second but not really wanting to.

"I," he sighs because he hates lying and then tries not to wince which goes less than successful, "I got into a fight," is what he settles on but he can see by the frown forming on Peter's forehead that he's suspicious. "You know how the super hero life goes – criminals don't like being stopped."

It's a pathetic attempt at a joke and he knows that even with six years Peter can see right through his façade. Damn this kid and his emotional intelligence.

"Normal criminals don't get that close," he retorts quietly and then adds, voice dropping: "Pepper said you went out to help Captain America."

Ah. Well, that's just unfortunate.

"I did."

"He hurt you."

"Maybe I hurt him too."

That makes the boy pause and look down, gaze stopping on his bruised hand that is connected to an IV stand next to his bed. Somehow, when he looks up again he looks older.

"Mister Vision had to fly out to get you back. If Captain America was that hurt he would've brought him back, too."

Tony hates the matter of fact way he says it and the distrust that swings in his voice when speaking about one of his child hood heroes. He wants to take it all away but he finds that he's too worn to lie, too tired to comfort, so he does what he does best and deflects.

"I thought you didn't like hospitals."

Peter shrugs like it's not a big deal but his knuckles are turning white with the force he uses to clutch his notebook and when he mumbles a reply he doesn't meet his eyes, "'S not a real hospital. 'S like home. I was –" He breaks off blushing and voice small when he finally looks at him again, "Are you okay?"

A small smile graces Tony's lips and, to his utmost surprise, it doesn't feel fake. He likes it when Peter calls the tower home. It feels like a spark of hope that it might be one again one day.

"I'm better now that I've got my favorite person in the whole world around to blow kisses on my booboos," he grins and scoots over to make room on his bed for Peter.

It's what they usually do when he gets back from a mission and is resting on the couch or his bed and Peter doesn't waste another second to comply, jumping up and nestling into his side like a cat like he always does.

Like clockwork Tony's arm winds around the boy's back despite the pain the movement elicits and Peter leans forward to receive the usual kiss to the top of his head. When he leans back to scrutinize Tony his nose is adorably scrunched up and he looks slightly indignant. "Y' know, booboo is a baby word and I'm a big boy."

"Oh, you're a big boy now, are you?" The offended puppy eyes melt away the last of the Siberian ice and he yields to the little boy. "Okay, okay. You're a big boy," he acquiesces, "So what kind of big boy stuff have you been up to while I was gone?"

Peter jumps right into it, pulling up his notebook and showing him how he has been practicing writing cursive. It became a thing just before Peter started school in summer that Tony would start to teach him the art of cursive writing. The moment he saw May's awful handwriting for the first time he knew he couldn't let the poor boy learn on that alone, so he took it upon himself to coach him on the intricacies of it.

Despite popular belief he actually loved writing things by hand and he had a good handwriting – it was just impractical most of the time and when did he ever do things for fun?

The kid is still flicking through his book looking for a particular page when Tony startles both of them with a laugh.

"Did you," he snorts and blinks away the moisture in his eyes that he's not sure comes from the pain or the laughter, "Did you really write my _name_ on there? C'mere, show me that!"

The hand not holding Peter in place tugs the book out of his hands and flicks to the side where he had painted a big Iron Man helmet and had written his superhero's persona's name next to it for Peter to practice writing the capital I. Peter, being Peter, though had decided to defy him on all accounts and had written his name – _Anthony Edward Stark_ – over and over until the page was full. Ending on a half- finished _Anthony Edw_ –

The writing is shaky and awkward because some of the letters they haven't even practiced yet but all of them are correct and in that moment Tony loves Peter more than he could ever put into words, more than he ever thought he could love someone and he laughs again and this time he knows the tears are from both the pain of what he's lost and from the bliss – the future – he's holding in his arms.

"You think you're being really funny, don't ya?"

Peter scoffs and sticks his tongue out at him. "I _am_ funny."

_Iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou_

"I really love you buddy, you know that?"

"'Course I do. You tell me _all_ the time."

* * *

When the Avengers get pardoned a year later because the world decides they need their heroes back Tony is worn from the fights he fought to get them there.

He's scared and anxious and angry but when he steps out into the penthouse Peter is sitting there – the picture of a content child – working on a LEGO set Tony is sure is above his age range and his inner storm calms when he approaches and sits down cross-legged next to him, watching him align the pieces carefully and with his tongue tucked between his teeth.

Maybe it's selfish to break him out of his concentration, maybe he should just let him be but he needs Peter's strength right now, needs his smile to build up his own because he's tired and he's wary and he needs to be reminded what he's doing all this for.

"Hey bud," he greets him with a hair ruffle and presses a kiss to the top of his head, lingering an instant longer than he normally would to breathe in the familiar scent. It's home and it's safe and it's wonderful.

"Whataya up to?"

Peter beams up at him and somehow it makes his heart lighter and heavier at the same time. "May got me an AT-AP Walker Set! Pepper promised to help me build it but Morgan was hungry and I think she pooped herself," he sniffs as if thinking back to a truly awful memory and Tony can't help the smile forming on his lips. "Do you wanna help, too?"

"I would love to," he sighs dramatically and leans back against the couch, watching Peter with a lazy smile. When he's here like this he can almost forget what comes after. "But I still got an important meeting in, uh, five minutes and just wanted to drop by to, uh, say hi."

Almost.

Slowly Peter puts down the grey bricks he has been working on and eyes him critically. "You never come home early when you still have a meeting," he notes, "Unless you're not going to the meeting but I think Pepper'd be mad if it's important."

"Shush," he rolls his eyes and reaches out again to ruffle his hair. A part of him just wants to hold his boy close and never let go but the bigger part doesn't want to worry him and to keep him as far away from all of this as possible. Which might not be very far for long.

"I promise I'm going. I just wanted to see something cute before I spend the next few hours with all these boring old folks."

"I'm not cute," the squirt quips back and goes back to sorting his bricks, "Morgan is cute. I'm –"

"Yeah, you're what, Petey? Adorable? Precious? As sweet as the marshmallow fluff that's giving you cavity? Delightful, maybe? Or what about-"

Suddenly his mouth his covered by a small sweaty hand and he can see how Peter is trying to be serious but he's failing to suppress a giggle. "I'm _not_ cute."

Seizing the opportunity he tackles the kid into a hug and holds him close, "Okay, whatever buddy," he breathes into his hair, "You know I love you, right?"

Soft curls tickle his nose when Peter nods dutifully and he knows he has to leave soon, knows he's already running late and he can't be – not for this. But suddenly letting go is so much harder than just getting his muscles to release the small body. The conference room suddenly seems so much farther away than just two stories down, it feels like they're worlds apart and he likes this one better.

"Steve Rogers is requesting entry to the penthouse," F.R.I.D.A.Y. interrupts his musings and just like that he feels Peter freeze in his hold and look up at him, eyes wide and betrayed and scared.

"What's he doing here?" he demands, "What does he want? Why'd you let him in? Wh –" Then, suddenly, he stills and glares, pushing away from Tony's grasp and crossing his arms in front of his chest in a way that looks less like defiance and more like he's shielding himself.

"_He's_ your meeting, isn't he?" he all but spits out and it sounds like the ultimate betrayal. His voice is shaking with anger and his doe eyes, usually soft and loving, are as closed off as Tony has ever seen them.

He pushes himself up to sit on the couch instead of on the ground so they're eye-level and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Without looking away from Peter, he raises his voice to talk to his AI.

"Tell him access denied and I'll be with them in just a sec."

"_Them_," Peter narrows his eyes, "Who's _them_?"

"The Avengers, Peter, I'm sure you've heard of them," he retorts and immediately feels guilty when there's a flash of hurt in his eyes. He sighs, head hanging, "Look, I'm sorry, Pete. I'm –"

Before he can decide on what to say, he's being interrupted, something Peter rarely does and never when it's important but the boy in front of him who dropped his arms and has his hands clenched to fists, shaking with fury isn't the boy he usually deals with.

"_Why_ are they here?"

"To talk."

He wants to walk over to him and take him in his arms again to stop him from shaking like a leaf but he doesn't want to tower over him, doesn't want to crouch to be on his level either. This conversation is important and he knows he needs to stay put for now.

"The world needs the Avengers, Pete. We need them to protect the world. I need them to protect Morgan and – and to protect you. To protect my fa-"

"_NO_!" He all but screams and it has Tony mentally take a step back and stare when he's stomping his foot and pulling his hair.

"No! No, no, no, no, no. NO!" he yells again, "I don't need them! We – _We_ don't need them. We have you!" He scowls angrily. "You're – You're _Iron Man_! And they – I don't trust them! I _hate_ them! I want them to – I want them to go! Tell them to go _away_!"

Now, without trying to be braggadocios, Tony would say after helping raise Peter for almost two years and having a toddler of his own he has a pretty good grip on the whole parenting thing but – for _fuck's sake_ – he's had it easy so far and never really had to deal with an actual tantrum before.

Sure, Morgan fusses and cries and wails like the world is ending sometimes but a four-month-old tantrum is much different from Peter having a meltdown in front of him. Peter, the most well behaved boy on the planet who rather screams into his pillow than at people and who, for reasons he tries not to dwell on, never ever pushes May or him away in fear of pushing too far and losing too much.

Peter is a good kid. Sometimes he's angry, sometimes he's sad and sometimes he has so many emotions he doesn't know how to deal with that he shuts down but the last time Tony has seen him this helplessly angry was the night he found him in a dark alleyway bend over his uncle's dead body.

The entirety of his small body seems to be filled with rage. He's trembling with it, overflowing with fury and what looks like something that's much too close to hatred for Tony to ever want to see it in his boy's eyes ever again.

He remembers the first time he had to calm him down, remembers the blood and the pain and the harsh light of the streetlamps and he hates it. Hates the Rogues for making Peter feel that way again more than he hates them for leaving in the first place.

"Kiddo," he murmurs and slides down from the couch, sitting cross legged and with open arms in front of the shaking kid. He doesn't scoot closer even though he wants to and tries to beckon him towards him with his voice alone. "They won't hurt you, I promise. I would never let anyone hurt you."

"But they hurt _you_." Peter hasn't moved yet but his voice has dropped a few pitches and some of the anger is seeping out of his shoulder. Tony would only count it as a half-win, though, when it's instantly replaced by sadness and fear. Those he knows how to deal with at least.

"I don't want them to hurt you again," he whispers, taking a timid step forward and letting Tony reach for his hands that are hanging listlessly by his side. He watches him uncurl them quietly and when he looks up to meet his gaze again there are tears running down his cheeks. "You have to take care," he demands reverently and takes another step forward, dropping into Tony's lap and throwing his arms around the older man's neck.

"You have to take care and come back," he presses into his collarbone, "You can't – _Please_ don't leave me all alone. I only have May and you and I can't do this without you. I _can't_. You have to promise!"

_Oh Peter. _

Tony pulls the small boy impossibly closer, rubbing a hand over his back and pressing a kiss to his temple.

"I promise I'll always come back home to you, kiddo."

And maybe that's an unfair promise to make when he can't ever be sure he'll be able to keep it. Maybe lying makes him a bad parent. But right now he has his kid crying into his t-shirt and he'd do anything to make it better and so he promises himself that he'll always do his best and fight his hardest to make sure he'll always be there to make it better.


End file.
